


The Bet

by Zeffy



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeffy/pseuds/Zeffy
Summary: “...You know what, Quinn? You were nasty all day, I was patient. I tried to entertain you. I don't understand why are you even here? But I'm done, I need to take a break, have a drink... Meet someone... nice…”“Get laid...”“Yes! Get laid! Yes! I need to relax, you know? Weren't you trying to do the same?”She's saying it very loudly. Because she's drunk. Of course, everyone in the hall is looking at them. But she doesn't care. Quinn is not happy with any of it...  Chapter 3 (Feb 10)





	1. Things that glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrangipaniFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/gifts), [Laure001](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girls, thank you for the prompt and have fun today! (But know that I'm waiting for your part of the deal;))

Carrie and Quinn are on a mission – well, kind of – they are stuck in one of those fancy, ridiculously luxurious hotels that are so proud of their five star service, and marble floors, and king size beds.

Thing is, they have to wait for one of Carrie’s assets to leave her a very important, top secret piece of intel, and they are not sure when it will happen. So, that's what they do, they wait. 

Wanna ask why Quinn is there too? Well, obviously, a) for safety reasons and b) to keep an eye on Carrie, having a valid excuse for that (safety reasons). He doesn't admit the b) part though.

So, what they do is they sit in their room – pink walls, baroque furniture, a lot of cushions – and, yeah, the thing is they have just one room, with one bed and no couch and that makes Quinn feel uneasy.  
Three rings of the hotel phone mean that the files are in a secret place at the hotel garden ready to be collected. 

A lot of sitting in the room together, having absolutely nothing to do, ahead of them. 

If you’re wondering why in a cell phone era people are tied to a landline, well, that's because it's a spy classic. See, they don't talk to the asset, just one impersonal unanswered call made by someone from the hotel service – could be laundry, reception or anything - and no way to connect Carrie with the person who provides the data. Very clean, no trace. 

It is nice at first. 

No. Actually, it is totally fucked from the very beginning. Quinn is not in a good mood, not at all, right from the first hour of their deliberate captivity. Did I mention he is tense? He was never more cold and distant, alternating icy stares with spiteful comments on whatever Carrie said. Just because. Poor guy, we know of course what is bugging him. First, you are nice, then she smiles, and bam – you are a goner. And then there's this fucking bed. 

See? Honestly, it is a nightmare for him. 

But from Carrie’s side it looks totally illogical: he volunteered (insisted) to come with her, but now he acts like a total jerk? What is his fucking problem? 

“What's your fucking problem, Quinn?” she asked every time.

“No problem,” he answered every time, through his teeth. 

They have this exact dialogue like a thousand times in a couple of hours. Exhausting. Last time she asks, she gets a more elaborate answer: 

“Fuck off, Carrie, will you?”

Asshole.

By the evening Carrie has had it. Isn't she a responsible adult and a highly trained professional who can find a way out of any tricky situation? She takes three micro-bottles of booze from the minibar as a nerve soothing medication. Pouring them all – tequila, vodka and whiskey - into one glass, under the irritated gaze of Quinn, she sighs with pleasure, anticipating the relief, shifts it to her lips but, just before taking a sip, she catches Quinn’s stare, smiles – too sweet to be true - and hands him the drink.

“Cocktail?”

“We’re working or what?”

“Come on, it won't hurt.”

“What if we get a call?”

Carrie is losing her patience a little bit. But she manages to resume her fake smile, making it even sweeter.

“I’m not offering you to get totally drunk. Just one glass, to unwind from all this waiting.”

Ha. Of course they get totally drunk. But we'll get to it later. Right now, Quinn knocks down the booze with one gulp. 

“Better?”

He doesn't answer. Carrie chooses to have her drinks straight from the bottles. 

It takes some time. Those stupid tiny bottles with narrow necks don't let you… Ah, whatever. Of course she's quite capable of succeeding in getting to her precious drinks, narrow necks or not. When she's done, she sees that Quinn _is_ better. The alcohol kicks in. He finally relaxes his shoulders and leans on the back of the armchair he’s sitting in. He looks tired but not angry, just… normal. 

“Hey Quinn, how about we are, like, buddies tonight? I mean, like two old pals, chatting about whatever you guys talk about when you get together?”

“Wow.”

“I mean… you were annoyed the whole day… no, don’t try to argue, you were. I don't know what's wrong, and you're not helping me here, but whatever it is, let's just forget about it for a while.”

He looks at her, surprised. She continues.

“I mean, today, we are not co-workers on assignment. We just hang out together. I don't know, our friends broke up and the hotel reservation wasn't refundable, so we came here…”

“Um, ok.”

“Great!” Carrie is clearly very happy with her idea. “So, it's settled. Right? Tell me, friend, what's up?”

“What about some more whiskey?”

“Sure, let's call room service.”

Soon the waitress arrives with their drinks. 

“Good evening! My name is Amelia, I’m your waitress tonight.”

“Hello Amelia! I’m Carrie. And this is Quinn.”

Carrie is beaming with friendliness and warmth. All fake. But she's well into her role already, she can't switch it off.

“You are such a lovely couple. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you. Nope, we are not a couple. We’re friends. Buddies. That's it,” Quinn says, looking at Carrie.

“Best friends forever,” Carrie confirms, smiling. 

“Okay, here are your drinks, let me know if you need anything else.”

And, before leaving, she winks, Carrie can swear she does. At Quinn. 

“Mmm, she's nice,” Quinn says. “What do you think?”

“Oh come on.”

“What? That's guys’ talk.”

“A waitress? Is that your type? I thought you're better than that.”

“She has a certain… charm, you know?”

“Yeah. Totally. Big boobs. And no shame.”

“Sounds like a perfect combination.”

“She winked at you. I mean, who does that?”

"Well, maybe she likes me, you know… because I look fine?”

Carrie just rolls her eyes.

Two drinks later, they are almost old friends for real. They have a nice chat. Quinn is all charm and smiles, and Carrie congratulates herself again, but… there’s a tiny little problem. He smiles not at her, but at the young waitress that keeps bringing them drinks. And this waitress – little bitch – she is very, very flirty with him. And it bothers Carrie, she can't figure out why. Like, doesn't this girl see he’s busy tonight, friends or not? Besides, the waitress keeps calling her Callie. 

“She’s doing it on purpose,” Carrie announces after the second time she corrects the girl. 

“Come on. Why would she need that?” 

“She likes you.”

“Does she?”

“Yes she does. And – cut the crap, I see you are aware.”

“And?”

“And stop being so self-satisfied, it's not polite.”

Carrie is right. Looks like a different guy, all sassy and confident, is sitting in front of her. She can't say she doesn’t like it, quite the opposite, but still, deep inside, she is disappointed. Just, you know, she kind of thought he was hers. And that he would never prefer a waitress over her. Silly, right? She tries to ignore that unpleasant feeling, because – they, she and Quinn, are colleagues, and she doesn't even want him to… right?

“So, she wants to annoy you.”

“I bet.”

“Are you annoyed?”

“Me? No way. But I’m going to teach her a lesson.”

“Come on Carrie. Are you looking for…”

At this point, the waitress arrives again. Before Quinn can intervene, Carrie stands up with her gun behind her back. Well, to her defense, at this point she has already had five drinks at least.

“Hi again Amelia,” she says, and her smile makes Quinn worry a little, “please leave the bottle here.”

Amelia, totally oblivious, places the bottle on the table and bends down to put the ice and pour the drinks into the glasses, and she stands close to Quinn, showing him the full depth of her cleavage.

“Anything else, Miss Callie?” she says, at the same time looking directly at Quinn with a small dirty smile on her lips. 

Carrie puts her gun on the table next to the bottle with a loud crash. 

“No, Amelia, thank you,” – she says in a friendly manner. “Just one thing, don't forget to call me Carrie next time. Not Callie. Okay?”

The waitress is shocked. She slowly backs away to the door and retreats without a word. 

“Very nice, Miss Callie,” Quinn says skeptically.

“What? I didn't threaten her, right? And I – I mean my undercover self - have a license.”

“And you use it wisely.”

“You're bitter because I cancelled your hookup.”

“You can't cancel my hookup.”

“Really? You think this chick will ever deal with you?”

“You know what? I'm going to find her now. Because no one can make arrangements with my private life.”

He is up and out in no time. 

“Sure, good luck with that,” she shouts to the slammed door, not sure he hears her.

Carrie is left with her own drunk thoughts. She doesn't feel great. She's not used to this, interested men are always at her service, she was never dismissed so openly, she's a beautiful woman after all! Even with their ‘best friends’ arrangement, still not nice to leave her there alone. And damn, she was so sure Quinn had a thing for her. They could actually be fuck buddies, why not? Totally his loss. If he prefers service staff, she'll go and get someone too. Much better. He’ll see. She rummages through her suitcase and fishes out a dress. A nice, black “I want to pick someone up” dress. Bare shoulders, long enough not to be vulgar, short enough to be sexy. That kind of dress. She wasn't even supposed to take it with her, but she felt she might need it, and she was so right! 

She quickly changes and in the mere fifteen minutes since Quinn left she's on her way to the hotel bar, thinking of all the fun possibilities it can offer.

When the elevator doors open at the ground floor, first thing she sees is Quinn, standing near the vending machine, and taking something out of it. 

Too late to hide, of course he notices her, and the way he looks at her, almost with his mouth agape, makes her feel victorious. 

“She ditched you? Trying to drown your sadness in chocolate?”

He is still looking but regains his composure quickly. 

“Where are you going, Carrie?”

“What? Only you are allowed to have fun, huh?”

“But there's the assignment... You were not supposed to go out.”

“Wow. Suddenly you remember about work. You know what, Quinn? You were nasty all day, I was patient. I tried to entertain you. I don't understand why are you even here? But I'm done, I need to take a break, have a drink...”

“We have a bottle over there…”

“... Meet someone... _nice_ …”

“Get laid...”

“Yes! Get laid! Yes! I need to relax, you know? Weren't you trying to do the same?”

She's saying it very loudly. Because she's drunk. Of course, everyone in the hall is looking at them. But she doesn't care. Quinn is not happy with any of it. Noticing a couple of guys giving Carrie interested looks (and obviously going to suggest their help on the matter), he stares them down and grabs her shoulders to prevent her from going away.

“Ok, Carrie, I’m sorry, I really think we should get back to our room.”

“That's unfair! You were ditched, you go there. I'm going to have fun!”

She tries to shake his hands off, not very successfully, when a new idea strikes her.

“Hey Quinn, did you ever use those pick up apps? Must be really helpful.”

She's searching for her phone, but can't find it.

“No I didn't. Hey Carrie…”

“Shit. My phone… I must have left it in the room.”

She gets back to the elevator and he hurries after her. When they are inside, he goes:

“Carrie.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re a team, right? So, if you go to pick up your guys, I’ll have to go with you.”

“No! No, no, no. How am I supposed to find someone with you around?”

“I don't know. But if you do, I’d have to go with you to his room, search it, and wait outside.”

She considers his words as well as his determined look. No doubt he'll do it, she thinks.

“Fuck. You're awful.”

“Security first.”

Yeah, security, of course. He's going to kill all those guys one by one if he has to.

He opens the door to their room and lets her in. 

“Fine. You leave me no choice. But you know what? You owe me now. I want to party! Be fun. Order champagne.”

He can't argue with her, can he? While Quinn is making his order, Carrie suddenly remembers the episode with the gun. 

“Hey, we’re not seeing your favorite waitress again, right?”

“I don't know. Maybe she'll have a heart attack after receiving another order from this room.”

“That poor girl. Tell me how she refused to you.”

“Carrie…”

“What? I want to know! Guys talk!”

“She didn't.”

“Okay… that's interesting. You must have really impressed her!”

“…”

“Tell me more. Or, you know, we’ll go to find me some dick right now.”

“Some dick. Quite a nice way to refer to your date.”

“Hey, it's not me we're talking about. I'm listening.”

“Fine. She's finishing her shift in half an hour. I was supposed to wait for her in the hall.”

“Shit. Really, it's not her night. She'll be disappointed to find out you're here again with your bestie. Ordering champagne.”

“As long as nobody points a gun at her…”

“Oh don't start. At least I'm sure she will never ever call me Callie again.”

“Yeah. Diplomacy at its best.”

“Good evening again,” – the waitress says warily, making her way to the coffee table with the bottle, the ice bucket and the glasses, making sure to stay as far from Carrie as possible. “Here you go. Have a nice evening.” She dares to glance at Quinn somewhat annoyed but chooses to hurry away. Or tries to, but Carrie stops her.

“Hey, hey, Amelia, can you bring us something to eat?”

“Sorry, the kitchen is closed for the night.”

Of course, Carrie can't just take it. She pushes and makes the waitress go and recheck and the girl knows better than to argue. When she's out, Carrie is celebrating her victory. 

“See? See? No more Callie! I'm the best! I'm so good at this.”

“That's because she hasn't said your name.”

“Ah, that doesn't matter. She didn't annoy me with the name nonsense, that's the point!”

“If you say so.”

“Come on. You know what? Let's make a bet. I mean, none of us is going to get laid tonight, right? So, how about, if she calls me Callie again, we sleep together?”

Here you should imagine Quinn who can't believe his own ears. He stares at her, blinking, for good ten seconds. And then finally says:

“What?!”

“Come on. I should have some fun, either I win the waitress situation, or I get laid. While you are not risking anything here.”

“Deal.” 

He didn't mean to say that. How did it happen? But before he becomes fully aware of what he just signed up for, Carrie seals the deal with champagne.

“Cheers!”

He drinks his glass with one gulp.

While he’s still processing their bet, Carrie is totally nonchalant, you know, like this stuff happens every day. 

“Hey Quinn, did you buy chocolate?”

“What?”

“You know, downstairs, when you were chasing the boobs.”

“Carrie.”

“I’d have some now. Not boobs, I’m not into that stuff, but some chocolate.”

“No.”

“No? No you don't have chocolate or no you won't give it to me?”

“I didn't buy food. Sorry. Check out the minibar.”

“I did! Nothing in there. Shit. I’m so hungry! But you were buying something, weren't you?”

“…”

“What was it?”

“…”

“Quinn? Why don't you answer? Is it here in your pocket?”

Well technically when she's asking him that, her hand is already in his jacket, that is hanging on the chair. So, although he reacts immediately, and not a second later he's there grabbing Carrie’s hand, she already knows the answer. 

“Wow. I see you are very responsible.”

They both stare at the box in her hand.

“They are fluorescent, aren't they?”

Quinn is still holding her wrist like it can change something.

“That's pretty weird, don't you think? I mean, as I imagine it, the dark room, nothing but a… you know… _that_ … is the only thing to be seen…”

Quinn sighs and lets go of her, while she continues to inspect the box of condoms. 

“…floating in the air like it doesn't really belong to anyone…” 

“…and besides, it's green and it's glowing…” 

“…I don't know, Quinn, that's not very romantic. Do you think Miss Boobies would have liked it?” 

At this very moment the waitress arrives. She could have very well heard everything, Quinn thinks, and well, as he thinks that it can't get more embarrassing, Carrie snaps: 

“Do you like green dicks, Amelia?” 

Amelia prefers to ignore the question. 

“Sorry, there's no food left. Do you need more drinks?” 

“No, thanks,” Quinn says politely, "sorry for bothering you." 

He is pretty sure that right now she thinks he's a total jerk. 

“Good night, Mister Quinn, Miss Callie,” the waitress says right before closing the door. 

_(To be continued)_


	2. Things that happen at nights in hotel laundries

For two seconds, Quinn is relieved that she's gone and the awkwardness of this fucked up evening is ended. But only for two seconds. Because, then, he realizes. He hopes that Carrie is too drunk and too distracted to notice. 

Only she's not. And she's terrified. But she's not a coward, right? Nice adventure, one night stand with a colleague – very hot colleague, she admits - what can go wrong? Pure fun, right? Takes her a moment to regroup, she wants to smile seductively, play the fucking game - win the fucking game - but suddenly she feels sick. 

They stare at each other when the telephone rings. Three times. And then goes silent. 

“It's on.” 

“Yeah. It’s on.” 

Luckily, they can solve plenty of work-related issues without really talking to each other, knowing exactly what the other one is up to. 

They grab their guns – Carrie has to be very inventive because she's still wearing her dress, and there are only so many places you can put a gun, wearing an evening outfit without pockets – and head towards the exit in complete silence. 

The hotel is sleeping, the lights are subdued, and thick carpets in the corridors muffle the sound of their steps. They quickly pass the lobby, then, staying in shadows, make their way to the far end of the hotel garden, where, under the seat of the bench, they expect to find something. A flash drive, a phone, papers, whatever. 

They are almost there, when suddenly Quinn takes Carrie’s wrist, indicating she should stop. 

They are approaching the bench from the back, the hedge and the trees behind it allowing them to stay unseen. Which is great, because there's a big fucking problem: somebody is sitting on the bench.  
They back off to regroup and decide what to do. Can't be a coincidence, right? It's the middle of the night, and there's nothing around - nothing that could interest an average hotel guest at this hour, at least. Carrie sees the guy for the first time, her asset is a woman, and they have a different protocol for a personal meeting. Something bad must have happened to her, and of course Carrie is going to speak to the man. And of course Quinn is no fan of this idea. Their argument looks more like a pantomime, they manage to shout at each other in almost complete silence. Quinn doesn't want her to go, because it can be a set up. Carrie doesn’t want him to go because the asset’s replacement can destroy his intel and flee. Yeah, right, it's not easy to run away from black ops, but he’ll close up, and they don't have anything on him to make him cooperate. 

The guy seems to be far from calm, he's scanning the surroundings as if making sure no one is around, and that urges Carrie to make a decision. 

The moment Carrie chooses to finish their argument, just by taking a step towards the spot of light on the park path to face the guy, whoever he is, she steps on a tree branch that cracks under her foot and their supposed asset turns around nervously, simultaneously reaching into his pocket. They are still rather far – too far to knock him out right away or to put the gun to his temple - so, a moment later they both are on the ground, Quinn’s hand over Carrie’s mouth, so she can't argue. Or move. Or even stare him down angrily, because – yes, he's holding her tight, while pointing a gun towards the guy. Carrie thinks she's probably too drunk for any kind of shooting activity, she hasn't even managed to grab her own gun yet - or to think about it. Fortunately, they see that the guy just takes cigarettes from his pocket, starts smoking, apparently oblivious to their presence. 

Quinn lets go of her, slowly stands up and moves, silent and quick, and in no time they learn that their supposed asset is just a pot smoker who came here to find a secluded place, and wasn't lucky choosing the bench. He is terrified and swears he won't do it ever again and starts crying like a baby, and Quinn hasn't even threatened him with a weapon, just telling him to leave. He hurries away on shaky legs as fast as he can. 

“I thought this stuff was supposed to relax you,” Quinn says. 

“Some people get paranoid after smoking. Wait, you’ve never tried it?” 

“Well have you?” 

“You are so judgmental. I would never tell you.” 

“I suppose you did.” 

“Ok, let's save this entertaining conversation for later. Is there anything here under the bench?” 

Quinn examines the underside of the seat and finds a piece of paper, carefully wrapped in plastic film - a note from the asset redirecting them to the hotel service rooms somewhere in the staff only area. She explained that the spot hadn't been safe enough to place the intel there. 

“Looks like our crying man scared the shit out of her too.” 

“Yeah. I bet he has a talent to appear in wrong places. Shall we?” 

They go back in a hurry, enter the hotel building from the back door and take the stairs to floor -1, where the laundry, kitchen and staff offices are situated. It takes them a while to find their way in the labyrinth of white corridors with white doors that all look the same. The lights are on in the huge laundry, though there's no one around, they pass an endless row of washing machines that aren't working. Soon they spot the door to the closet and thank god it’s their goal. It’s a claustrophobic space with shelves full of washing powder, cleaning liquids, bleaches and other stuff, and the awful chemical smell adds to the impression. They rummage through shelves hastily but methodically, they're halfway through and have nothing so far, when they hear the door opening in the laundry room. “Fuck,” Carrie swears under her breath, watching Quinn worriedly. Attention from personnel is the least thing they need now, that's for sure. The steps are approaching and there's no doubt someone is heading right here. They can't hide here, there's simply nowhere to hide, and mere seconds are left so Quinn just says “Play along,” and backs her up against the shelves and she swears because it’s uncomfortable and unexpected and cold metal against her back makes her shiver. A moment later she catches up with his plan and it makes her hold her breath while he grabs her thigh and she hooks her leg against his hip, his other hand on her waist pressing her body against his. He is so close, she looks up at him, she thinks he will kiss her, his lips almost touch hers and she sees it again in his eyes, this thing that makes her heart freeze – in a sweet way – but then he doesn't kiss her, well he does, but he goes down to her neck instead, starting right below her ear, and then lower, along her neck to her collarbone, slowly, and she almost misses the moment when the door opens because his of his mouth against her skin and because of his hand on her thigh, caressing, making its way up, touching the edge of her underwear, and, when he presses his body against her, she can only gasp and pull at his hair, grasp his shoulder and… you know, play her role. 

“What the hell?” the woman, the laundry worker, asks loudly, popping the door open. 

They both turn to look at her, startled, slightly out of breath and confused (just like they should be) and the woman is ranting about those people who have no shame and can't do it in their room because they are perverts and like to get caught and she doesn't want to be a part of their foreplay, and Quinn is mumbling excuses and she fixes her clothes, trying to think straight, figure out what to do next, and they exit the closet, and then the laundry and she glances at him expecting him to stop, because they have to wait and return, but he's not stopping, he's walking quickly, away from the place, she opens her mouth but before she says a word he shows her a small envelope. 

“How…?” She stops and stares at him, surprised, but he doesn’t answer. He puts his palm on her back, urging her to start moving, and they make their way back – endless corridors, white doors, the lobby, the stairs, until they are inside their room again. 

Good. They did it. Carrie leans on the closed door, exhaling, while Quinn is examining the envelope. 

There is a flash drive. The information is more than they hoped for, all necessary and useful. With it, they can have couple of valuable people in a choke hold, figuratively speaking, and solve couple of matters of national security. You know how it works. They need to answer – to meet the asset discreetly and give her instructions on further work. That's the plan for tomorrow, anyway. 

As they are done, Carrie looks around for the first time since their return, and there's champagne and glasses and, you know, fluorescent condoms and everything that reminds of their tiny silly thing. Absolutely no big deal. They can totally forget it and move on. 

Nah, Carrie can't. Or, doesn't want to. First, it's been a long and stressful day and she is determined to unwind. Ok, that's not first. First, is that she hasn't had sex for months. Ok, ok, not the first either. First, is that she's addicted. She wants to feel that sweet tingle in the pit of her stomach when he looks at her _that way_ and those shivers when his hands and lips touch her skin. The memory of it makes her feel dizzy and, despite the fact she's still aware it's a slippery slope that can screw up their relationship completely, she just can't resist. 

She sighs and retreats to the bathroom to gain some time, taking the champagne leftovers along with her, drains the remains of the drink straight from the bottle in a search for resolution, and, when she's ready and reenters the room, lights are off and he’s already taken off his clothes and is lying on the bed under the covers. She takes it as a good sign. A very good one. She lies down on the empty side of the bed, propping her head on her elbow and looking at him with a small smile. Just when she's about to reach out to touch him, he turns and says categorically, “I won’t fuck you, Carrie.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. I won't have sex with you. Go to sleep.” 

 

(To be continued)


	3. Things that make things better

It's almost morning, they went to sleep two hours ago, but she's not sleeping. She's too agitated to sleep. Tough day, the adrenaline level in her blood is not fading, fueled by alcohol and anger. Quinn dozed off and that makes her angrier. That fucked up bullshit he gave her after their return! She can't believe it.   
He didn't explain anything, and she can't wrap her mind around it. He agreed, right? To take the bet. And she can swear it wasn't all play, there, in the laundry closet. Not that she could call him on his refusal, she’d look dumb. Well, she looked dumb anyway. But, what's worse - fuck, it hurt. More than she’d like to admit. She just turned away and – she can't find sleep since then.   
He keeps surprising her, and she doesn't like it. She prefers to handle men with ease, knowing exactly their moves for several steps ahead. But Quinn is different. There are moments when he looks at her, when he thinks she's not looking, that make her shiver (in a good way), but… she's not sure what to make of it. Her intuition is telling her there's something. _Something._ Affection? Warmth? Longing? And she likes it. But she doubts it, often, and especially on days like this. He is always so reserved, distant. Shit, today he was going to fuck another woman right before her eyes (not literally, but… anyway, one can't take it as a sign of deep attachment, right?) 

Still, he makes her crave for more, and she can't resist prompting him, but each time she tries, he sees right through her and tells her to fuck off. It's disturbing, she wants to win, to prove it's there, but also, underneath, she wants to feel it, his care, because… she doesn't know why. And she hates it. 

“Carrie?” 

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?” 

(She's so not sorry. Probably she did it on purpose, with all her restless turns and angry sighs.) 

“Kind of. What's the matter?” 

(Not really. Quinn was more pretending than actually sleeping. When he closed his eyes, he saw that Carrie closed the distance between them, and put her hand on his chest, then moved it under his shirt, and then… Well, you get the idea.) 

“What? There's nothing the matter. Just can't sleep.” 

“Ok, fine. You can't sleep, nobody else is allowed to. I get it.” 

“You know what? Maybe I am a crappy person. Or maybe, maybe I just had a crappy day – and night – and you were a big part of it.” 

He rolls over to face her. 

“Ok, Carrie. What do you want from me?” 

His tone is totally ironic, and – how come he's got the upper hand again? Fucker. But she's so not gonna lose it, and she has a plan. Great plan. 

She shifts towards him in the dark, and, before he gets what she's up to, before he can stop her, she leans in and kisses him. 

He doesn't kiss her back. 

She feels him tensing and he doesn't react – well, he doesn't breathe, doesn't move, doesn't kiss her back - but seconds pass before he backs away, and looks at her – she sees he’s no longer calm or ironic or anything – and he asks, “What the hell was that?” But his voice betrays him, he whispers. He is staring, closely, and she can't figure out what's on his mind. Is he worried? Maybe. But definitely not happy. 

She feels insecure. What did she expect, honestly? Of course, he rejected her once again. No longer angry or determined to knock him over, she admits to herself, finally: he is not interested. 

It sucks. 

For a moment she fights back tears. Damn, how is she going to look at him, work with him after this? She sees that he is disturbed, and she thinks- yeah, he had enough of her for the day, she threw herself at him too many times already, she literally attacked him just now, and he was polite enough not to push her away – physically at least. She's about to get up and go – somewhere – away from him, she needs distance to regain her composure. 

“Sorry,” she says, moving away from him. 

“Carrie…” 

He stretches his arm to get hold of her shoulder, to stop her – to try to soften the blow, she thinks – (just don't go away, he thinks) - but his move is interrupted, he freezes because of a strange noise coming from somewhere in the room, or just outside, very close. Way too close. 

He's on full alert in a second, up and checking the surroundings: the terrace first, nothing there, scanning the room, the bathroom, the hallway, going outside, no one in sight, all quiet, quickly crossing the room again, to the terrace adjoining the balcony shared with other rooms, and finally he thinks he sees the shadow, he chases it, along the balcony, down to the hall entrance – not successful though, nobody around. When he arrives at the hall door, he sees the movement inside, but the door is locked, so he has to go down the fire-escape stairs and round the building, and when he reaches hotel’s main entrance there's no one there. 

Roads are empty, just chilly morning air and the mist and the street lamps still shining, although the day is breaking already. It feels surreal. 

He runs at random direction just to try his luck, checks a couple of park paths but - it's all empty. 

It's over. 

His nerves probably played a trick on him. 

He stops, inhales the cold air, stuck in this moment of silence and calm in disbelief. Finally, he thinks of what has happened between him and Carrie. A disaster, that's what first comes to mind. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Yeah, it's his moment of weakness, he just wants to reverse it somehow, to get back to the start, when it was simple, meaning – he suffered quietly with his want, Carrie was oblivious. Good days. He never thought it could work – them, being together. He hoped he'd keep pretending. But now it’s all different, she ruined their fragile balance with her sudden… attention. That stupid flirt, that stupid bet. She kissed him, for fuck’s sake! 

Technically, it was almost impossible, what she did: he was putting so much effort into keeping his distance, that it seems ridiculous even for him. I mean, it's hard work, you know, to fight against attraction. Ongoing efforts, day by day, being borderline obnoxious and cold. But somehow she didn't give a shit about it. Well, it's Carrie. 

He needs a strategy. Because, honestly, he’s this close to giving in. Against his better judgment. Because he just can't. He's is so tired. He still feels her lips on his, and at this thought his brain supplies him with images of what he wants to do with her. 

Fuck. You know, as in “Damn it, why is this happening to me?” But also, yeah, quite literally, that's what he wants to do. Kiss her deep and slow, undress her, caress every inch of her body, drive her crazy with desire, tease her, make her moan and beg, feel her shivering when he finally touches her where she wants him to… 

He shakes it off. No good for his strategic planning abilities, this train of thought. Also, how pathetic is that? He need to stop it, once and for all. 

He turns around and heads back. 

When he enters the room, he instantly knows something is wrong. The door is slightly ajar, the laptop is broken, the papers are scattered all over the place. He panics, of course he does, calls Carrie – no answer – gun in hand, he checks everything again, in reverse order - hallway first, then the bathroom, then the room, no sign of Carrie, he thinks they took her away. 

Shit. 

He rounds the bed, moves to the balcony door and there she is, on the floor, not moving, he checks her pulse, it's fine, she's breathing, he touches her shoulder, “Carrie, do you hear me? Carrie!”, no reaction, he checks her body, no sign of injury, her head is tilted to the side, and when he turns it, he sees that her cheekbone is bruised, apparently due to the fall. They must have knocked her out hitting the back of her head. 

She stirs, regaining consciousness. He helps her to sit up. 

“Quinn?” 

“Are you hurt? How are you feeling?” 

His voice is worried. 

“I’m fine… What happened?” 

She's rubbing the back of her head. It hurts. 

He sighs, stops examining her. Points at the mess – broken laptop, no flash drive, no guy, who is probably far away right now. 

She's still disoriented, tries to stand up, he helps her, but she stumbles, loses her balance and leans into him. He catches her fall, holds her - that's when she's remembers, tries to step back, away from him. “Sorry,” she says, head down, not looking. 

But he doesn't let her go. He holds her, embraces her, and, when she gives in, relaxes into him, he rubs her back, and he breathes: 

“Jesus Carrie, they could’ve killed you.” 

“I wonder why they didn't,” she murmurs, and he tightens his grip. 

Her skin is smooth under his hands, her bare shoulders, her hair, her smell, everything about this moment is perfect, and he doesn't think twice before touching her shoulder with his lips - she gasps, almost inaudible - and after that, he can't stop. He kisses her bruised cheek, her jawline, - and he knows there's no way back from this, but he doesn't stop, it's too late, he gives up, it's stronger than his will, and what is _it_ anyway, better not to think now, and he kisses the corner of her mouth just lightly, and she pulls him closer, and then he kisses her for real. 

It’s tender, because that's what on his mind, he almost lost her today, but also desperate, because, again, he almost lost her today, and it feels like he still can lose her any moment, if he lets her go. 

The kiss goes on for a while, getting more heated, until they are out of breath. As they stop, reluctantly, Carrie, still shocked, by this, by everything, moves away to look at him – she plans to ask, to clarify – but, she knows the answer before she does. 

“Are you sure about this?” She still goes, with a small smile. But it's there, written all over his face, the way he looks at her, so… affected, overwhelmed, and… so in love? Her heart skips a bit at this thought. She melts under his stare, in a way she never thought she would. She didn't even know how much she needed this. How much she has to offer in return. 

It's just a moment before he regroups and smiles back, but not defensive – he sees it too, her emotions, her recognition, and - his eyes shining, he answers “oh shut up,” and then, he kisses her again. She's still smiling against his mouth, “I thought you didn't want me,” she says, teasing, “oh you’ll see,” he responds, carefully unzipping her dress, finally touching her exposed skin, caressing her, while she struggles with the buttons of his shirt with her disobeying fingers. He quickly gets rid of the shirt, just pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. 

She touches his chest, runs her hands along his ribcage, lightly, fixing her eyes with his, and there's a shift in the mood, the air gets thicker, her heart pounds loudly, she stops smiling – and he does too – and then, there's no more laughs, no more teasing, just hot messy kisses, sighs, roaming hands, rustling fabric and the sound of their ragged breathing. 

They fall onto the bed, he is on top, on his elbows, taking a moment to look at her. She's so beautiful, so vulnerable and raw, her hair tousled, a blond strand across her face, her white skin in contrast with dark grey lace of her underwear, her eyes dark, looking at him. 

Not suppressed any more, his feelings are all-consuming, echoing in his every move. He wants to take it slow, to please her in every way, make it unforgettable. 

He's so hard already, grinding against her thigh, and she tries to shift to get more friction, but he doesn't allow her. He moves away, lies beside, kissing her neck down to the collarbone, nipping her smooth skin, touching it with his tongue, sucking it in lightly, while his hand is unclipping her bra, and as soon as he gets it off and away, her palm makes contact, caressing her breasts, his lips close around the nipple, and she hisses. He pulls it in, circling with his tongue, first just slightly, then harder, and his fingers are rolling the other one at the same time, and she moans. He takes his time to play with her, his hands caressing her everywhere but not where she wants to. She wiggles but he presses her to the bed with his thigh, and when she moans his name, desperate for his touch, he finally, very slowly, eases his palm beneath the waistband of her panties, but only to slide them down her legs, he kisses her hipbone and she groans as he slides his finger along her labia, stops for a second just above her clit, presses but too gentle, and she pleads. He slides one finger inside, at last, and she is so wet and tight and she's making sounds that drive him wild. He pushes in slowly, too slowly, then out, she's clutching the sheets, his shoulder, losing it completely, she wants more and can't stand his tease any longer. 

He continues fucking her with his finger, moves closer, his lips ghosting over the inside of her thigh and she senses his hot breath on her, long moments pass, she arches her back, “Quinn, please”, she breathes, and when he adds the second finger and flicks his tongue over her clit she cries out, he adds pressure, sucks it, laps with his tongue, sucks again, and she's there, climaxing, it's intense, so intense she's falling apart, crying, and he keeps stimulating her, stays with her until she relaxes. 

He wants her so badly he can barely control himself. He covers her body with his, his cock hard, pressing against her thigh. He kisses her, deep and hot, possessive, sucks on her tongue, her lower lip, and she shifts and spreads her legs, positions herself against him, her hands slide down his back, to his ass, pressing him closer, urging him to enter, and he obliges, exhaling loudly, sharply, slowly filling her, stretching, she's so tight, so fucking wet and responsive, so beautiful and flushed, she gasps and he nearly comes right away. He has to take it slow, but stays deep, and she makes these noises each time he thrusts, pushing hard. Her hands clutch his back, she raises her legs and locks them around his hips, bringing him even closer. In no time, they both are such a mess, almost at the brink, and he stops for a second, locks his eyes with her, whispers her name, and as he resumes, kissing her, bringing them there, they both lose it, moaning, kissing, holding each other. 

They lie sweaty and breathless in each other's hands. She touches his lips with hers - so sweet and tender - and he smiles. 

“Hey,” she says, “couldn't we get to the good part without me being attacked?” 

He has no answer, just holds her, brushes his lips against her skin. He thinks, he was a coward. He thinks, he was sure she wasn't interested. Not in sex, but in… being with him. He is still unsure she is. He thought it would ruin him. But wasn't it worth the risk. 

“What now, Quinn?” 

He sighs – they have to go back to less pleasant things. They have to report the failure. They have to find out who took their intel. And the worst part, they have to return. As soon as possible. 

He kisses her shoulder and gets up. As he tries to find his underwear in the heap of their clothes beside the bed, something attracts his attention. 

“What's this, Carrie?” He stares at the flash drive he's just picked up from the floor. 

“Our intel. What else it can be.” 

“Yeah but… how?..” 

“Call it a gut feeling. I hid this one, left the fake one in the laptop.” 

“So you fed them with the wrong intel.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Fuck me.” 

“I can do that. Just come back here.” 

“And this thing was where, exactly?” 

“Well… In my bra.” 

“Really? Inventive.” 

“I know.” 

“Also, it's hot.” 

“I know.” 

“Ok, we can't wait any longer, I'm going to report now. But you stay where you are.” 

He makes a call, answers the questions, gets the instructions – all professional and calm – so nobody at Langley could guess that he's sitting naked, on the edge of the bed, and Carrie – also very naked – has wrapped her arms and legs around him, hugging him from behind, and kisses his neck, bites his earlobe, and does other exciting things that don't help him to focus. And as he hangs up, she says: 

“Did you ask me to fuck you?” 

“We have two hours before the team arrives.” 

“Let's not waste our time then.” 

She pulls him back into her arms. Between the kisses, she asks: 

“Quinn?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What will we do when we go back?” 

“How about dinner?” 

“Sounds good.”

“And if you like the date, you might invite me for a drink to your place afterwards.” 

“A drink.”

“Yeah. A drink. But naked and in a bed.”

“Naked drinks. Sure. Works for me.”

 

(The end!)


End file.
